


petrichor

by ZurithiaXeli



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Friendship/Love, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Mentions of Death, Romance if you squint, Slice of Life, i tried turning it back to angst at the end? did it work?, i tried writing angst but it turned to hurt/comfort cause i'm no good at this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:28:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23839123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZurithiaXeli/pseuds/ZurithiaXeli
Summary: He was used to this, sneaking out in the dead of night to meet him. At the hill, nothing else mattered. Not his parents who were surprisingly lenient every time he said he went to meet Arthur. Not the biting cold of the night. Not the all-too-apparent lack of warmth from Arthur's body. Nothing. Sitting beside each other, he knew he wouldn't trade what he had for the world. But could they still have it?
Relationships: America & England (Hetalia), America/England (Hetalia)
Kudos: 14





	petrichor

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the CG Quarantine Challenge in the Hetalia Amino. (CG meaning Contest Guild)  
> Day 1: Remake the first thing you made for Hetalia.  
> I found a fic in my ffn account that I wrote years ago. I tried rewriting it for the challenge. It's definitely better than before but it could def be better. Here, have my attempt at writing angst. Spoiler: I can't do it. I can only write hurt/comfort.
> 
> I got featured in the Hetalia Amino for this fic! Thanks so much to the curators there!  
> It's been a long while since I've written and having my writing be featured really ups my motivation. Comments do the same lol. Comments probably up my motivation more.
> 
> The character death and mentions of death are very light. No death actually happens in the fic.

Deep in the night when everyone else was asleep, a boy too old for the trouble he always got himself into slid his window open and took a deep breath as he perched on the ledge. He didn’t bother locking his door. He knew no one would check, anyway. Well, probably. It was always a gamble. With a practiced leap, his hands caught the branch of the old tree before he swung himself over the tall fence surrounding his house. He stumbled forwards when he landed, tiny pebbles digging into his palms to scratch them up. He hissed a bit. Not one of his best landings but it was better than most of them. He used the momentum to shoot himself forwards into the night, leaving nothing but dust behind.

The streets were quiet around him. His nimble footsteps were all that could be heard. There were no glows to be found in the houses, leaving only streetlamps and the full moon to dimly light the way. But he didn't need light. He knew the path by heart.

Soon enough, the dirt path turned to patchy grass by the foot of the hill. He quickly scrambled to the top of it. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of a sleeping boy with sandy blond hair and a green sweater. He was leaning comfortably against the side of the tree, completely defenseless to anyone who was to see him there. As if sensing the other's presence, the boy's eyelids fluttered open to reveal two emerald green eyes.

"Alfred," the boy breathed. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths.

On cue, Alfred tripped towards him in his haste and wrapped his arm around the other's shoulder. In a practiced manner, he rubbed circles into the smaller boy's back.

"Shh, it's okay. Breathe slowly. I'm here. ‘M sorry that I'm late, Arthur." He murmured into the blond hair.

A short hum was all he got in response. Their breaths synced, letting Alfred know that it was okay to let go now. He didn’t want to. He was afraid of breaking the spell of...whatever it was that they had together.

Alfred chanced a look at Arthur. Arthur was, by all definitions, a kid. His shoulders didn’t broaden out like Alfred’s did. His legs didn’t stretch as long as Alfred’s did. His cheeks still held the baby fat that he always teased Alfred for years ago. His voice was still high and stable unlike the way Alfred’s voice cracked. He squeezed Arthur’s shoulder and burrowed his face in the hair that somehow still smelled the same. Everything about Arthur was the same. It wasn’t fair.

“Alfred.”

Alfred didn’t move an inch.

Arthur sighed and patted Alfred's head softly. “You always get so emotional when we meet. I only come around once a month, you know.”

“I know. ‘M sorry.”

“That’s… There’s nothing to be sorry for. Here,” Arthur shifted to place a worn book on his lap. Alfred loosened his hug to look at it. The book was covered with dirt. It was thick and the words were small but there were large pictures that showed scenes of brave knights and sleeping princesses. “Do you want to read with me?”

“Like before,” Alfred murmured.

“Like before.”

“I..I can’t read as well as I did before.” He lifted his glasses, glinting from the moonlight. “Glasses. Hah.”

Arthur’s eyes widened almost comically. “W-when did you...? Ahem,” he fixed his collar, despite it being perfect as usual. “Must be because of all those nights you spent reading comic books under the covers.” Alfred shouted in protest but it only fueled Arthur more. “You read them so often that you started to bring a flashlight everywhere. ‘Just in case,’ you said. I wouldn’t be surprised if you still had it on you.”

Alfred’s eyes glanced to the small red flashlight by his side and from Arthur’s smirk, he knew he had seen it too. Alfred turned his back on the other, pouting.

“Aww, Alfie. Don’t be mad at me,” Arthur cooed, poking Alfred’s ticklish side. And really, how could he be mad at Arthur? Arthur was his best friend.

Alfred looked over his shoulder at Arthur’s bright eyes and mischievous smile. He chuckled and lay down on the grass, placing his head right in Arthur’s lap. “Alfie?”

Arthur’s hand found its way through his hair, petting and playing with the strands. “A surefire way to make you less mad at me!” Alfred wouldn’t say it but there was no way Arthur could make him angry.

“I’m not sure I like how  _ sure _ you sound.”

Arthur just flashed him another grin and that was all it took to push them into a giggling fit. They calmed down slowly. Arthur was still stroking his head, soothing Alfred’s eyes shut with a content smile. “I’m glad you were my best friend,” Arthur whispered like a secret.

Alfred’s veins filled with ice at the sentence. His eyes shot open as he sat up, his hands curling into fists around the blades of grass they sat on. “ _ Are _ , Arthur! You  _ are  _ my best friend!”

Arthur’s eyes drooped sadly. “Oh, Alfred…” He said with a tone much like how an adult would tiptoe around a big problem before ultimately hitting a child with devastating news. Alfred knew how that sounded. He experienced it three years ago when he was on a vacation out of town.  _ Away from Arthur. _

“C’mon, Arthur.” he gripped Arthur’s too-narrow shoulders, smiling shakily. “You just have to repeat what I said. You. Are. My. Best. Friend. It’s not hard! You’ve said it a ton of times!”

Despite the death grip Alfred had on him, Arthur’s face betrayed no feelings. “Alfred.” His face fell. “You can’t change the past.”

Alfred gritted his teeth. “I’m not  _ trying _ to change the past, I’m just  _ reminding _ you that we’re still best friends.”

“Alfred.” Arthur laid his small hand over Alfred’s. He remembered when their hands were almost the same size. “You have to accept it. I’m dead and there’s nothing we can do about it.”

He looked to the ground, his vision swimming. “Then how are you still here?” The tremors still haven’t left his voice.

“Well, what else could it be?” Alfred’s face was lifted, small fingers wiping away tears that he didn’t know formed. Arthur wiggled the same fingers with a cheeky smile on his own face. “Magic.”

Damn it. Leave it to Arthur to make him laugh, even if all he wanted to do was cry all day. A watery sob left his lips. He tugged Arthur close, making sure to memorize the way he fit into his arms, the way his chest rose and fell in the shallow way it always did, the way his hair tickled Alfred’s face, and the way he sucked in a deeper breath before letting it out in a shudder. Three counts and there was a wet patch on his shoulder. He burrowed his face into the crook of Arthur’s neck and inhaled.

_ The smell of petrichor. _

* * *

“Sorry I made you cry again.” Arthur mumbled into his shoulder. They laid on the grass, Arthur on top of Alfred because  _ you’d crush me, you numbskull!  _ “One would think I’d given you enough crying for a lifetime.”

“‘S okay. Sorry too.” He rubbed in between Arthur’s shoulder blades and Arthur let out a sigh of appreciation. “We coulda read through at least five stories in the time we were crying. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“Ah, what does it matter? I’m dead.”

“Arthur.”

“Pfft, come on, Alfred. You don’t know how long I’ve been holding in the dark humor jokes. They’d actually work now.” Arthur’s chuckles filled the air. How he wanted to snatch ‘em up and bottle them for him to keep.

Alfred rolled his eyes goodnaturedly. “Some of us don’t want to be reminded of our impending doom.”

“Oh, big words for a big boy!”

“Shut up.” He pushed Arthur’s shoulder softly. Arthur laughed in return. “It’s just…” Alfred looked to the sky. The tree covered up most of what he could see so he lifted his head until Arthur’s face came into view. Arthur was watching him silently. The dark moonlit sky framed him beautifully. He burned the image into his memory. “I miss you so much.”

Arthur’s face crumpled with what could only be described as fondness and regret. “I miss you too, Al.”

“Can we stay like this for the rest of the night?”  _ Together, _ he doesn’t say.

“...You’d get cold. My heart doesn’t exactly beat anymore.”

“I don’t mind. I just want to hold you.”

Arthur’s eyes widened in the same comical fashion it always did when Alfred said stuff like that. Burying his head into Alfred’s chest, he mumbled, “Do as you wish. Good night, Al.”

Alfred smiled contentedly as he laid his head down. His eyes closed as Arthur’s thumb rubbed a spot on his arm. “Night, Art.”

When the morning came and the warm rays kissed his face, Arthur and the book were nowhere to be seen. Alfred's heart ached.

* * *

When Alfred came back the next month, sweaty and panting, arms full of items he wanted to show Arthur—it was a silent apology for wasting the time they had together—Arthur was not there. He paced and picked at the grass and counted the stars but Arthur did not come. Alfred sat in the cold night alone, watching, waiting.

If you were to ask anyone who passed by the hill if they've seen two boys sitting by the tree, they would say that Alfred has always been alone.

**Author's Note:**

> I thought of way too many layers for this and I was only able to include a few of them because of the time limit. orz I hope I was able to make it make a little sense? Please tell meee. T ^ T


End file.
